The Black Rose
by Golumfryingeggs
Summary: What's wrong, Mark' the Deadman looked up at Chris, his eyes were hollow, dead as if all the spirit had been sucked from them, but Chris wasn't giving up, not by a long shot.
1. Prologue

Well here we go again! I tried to write a wrestling fic a few weeks ago, it didn't go to well! I hope this one you find more appealing and hopefully it sparked some curiosity in the readers.

**Disclaimer**: I don't anything, if I did would I be wiping my ass clean with a smooth river stone?

**Characters:** Undertaker, Chris Benoit, Batista, Kane and I'll mention the others as we go along.

**Summary:** _He doesn't leave me, I wish he would, he's going to hurt someone, but I wish he'd hurt me, he's coming again I can't stop him... __Someone help me…._

* * *

**Prologue**

"Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust,"

The priest closed the bible with an audible snap. The giant was shook from his dreams as the preacher did so, he breathed deeply, but did nothing more. The beautiful mahogany coffin was carefully lowered into the pit. The shadows surrounded the shimmering wooden structure as if the jaws of death was claming it.

It all happened in a daze after that, every man he had ever known had shown up to show their support, friends and foes alike even his manager was giving him a small, almost caring smile. But never once did the giant actually show his appreciation, he hid his eyes behind his large sunglasses and even though the weather was burning hot, had he refused to remove his leather jacket.

After everyone had left (and after he had refused many lifts from friends), he returned to the fresh grave and loomed over it, much like a vulture. He sighed;

"All three of you," he whispered in a raspy voice, "All three of you in one go, I can't believe it…."

He swallowed hard as the tears threatened to spill. His eyes stayed focussed on the tomb stone, the one that had been carved by his own hands. The stone was beautiful; Two angels with trumpets were placed on either side of the stone, on the top of the stone was a perfectly carved Harley and on the bottom a small photo of a blonde woman.

It seemed his skills had come in handy after all, but he never would have dreamed to have carved them for….

His eyes suddenly shut tightly, he dared not think of such things. Upon opening them again his vision was blurred with unshed tears, but he still refused to let them flow. Instead he gazed down a the stone once more and placing a black rose upon the fresh upturned grime he whispered to invisible ears;

"I shall return every year, upon this day, place one rose upon you. Until I myself have been claimed by death…"

He had made that promise three times in one year, but still he struggled to believe that they were truly gone.

And with that he left, the winds blew across the graveyard, brushing the tombstones with icy lips which held the promise of a winter still to come. It lingered when it felt the rose, rustling its darkened petals the wind did not read, but felt the names carved into the three headstones which stood beside each other;

Here lies:

_Maggie Calloway_

_Our beloved daughter_

_Jeff Calloway_

_Our spirited son_

_Sara Calloway_

_My wife and my friend._

* * *

"Has he told the police what happened?"

"No"

Chris Benoit plonked down onto his bed. Mere hours had passed since the funeral and as such he was stil dressed in his suit, although the blazer had been removed due to heat. The Funeral had been no different than others he had attended, accept of course the one who was being buried. He had spoken to Mark, but only briefly, but the Deadman hadn't been too responsive.

He hadn't spoken to anyone, not even his half brother, Kane.

After the ceremony, Chris had immediately headed for his hotel room and had been relieved to find his room mate there as well. Darkness had fallen over the landscape, the lights of New York City shimmered through the windows, creating the idea that the stars had fell down to earth and had gathered on one island.

Chris smiled at the idea of the fallen stars, in times like these one needed to look at the good things in life, the things one tended to take for granted.

The wrestlers mind dwelled once again on Mark and the smile disappeared from his façade. The Undertakers demeanour had changed drastically over the past few months.

Mark Calloway had become exceptionally distant ever since his wife had died. His two Children, Maggie and Jeff, had only months prior been in a terrible accident, the details, of which, were still being kept in the dark.

But with the death of his wife, Sara, he had gone straight down. He had become more and more distant as time passed and it wasn't long before none of the Superstars could even talk to him. He just ignored them or avoided them, but either way no one could get close enough to even talk.

He had apparently found his wife in the bath tub; she was bleeding profusely from her hands and chest and had been raped viciously, raped! Chris still could not believe someone could be so sick! How it happened, though was still a mystery, but she was still alive.

Mark didn't even ask questions he had raced her to the hospital, but she had sustained too many injuries and couldn't pull through. Mark refused to cooperate with the police and due to this the case was closed.

Chris had never been particularly keen on the Deadman, but when he saw him today he knew there was more to Sara's murder than Taker was letting on and Chris wanted to find out what it was.

"I just can't believe he would willingly stop the investigation!"

"He didn't stop it, Batista!" Chris barked as he pulled of the tie, "He just refused to cooperate at all..."

Batista, who was casually leaning against the window, stared at Chris. "What's wrong?" he asked. Chris sighed, Batista was an absolute master in detecting if something was amiss, and tonight something was defiantly amiss.

"It's Mark," he said, holding the tie tightly in his hands, starring down at it and tracing the patterns with his fingers, "I'm worried, he hasn't talked to anyone, he refuses to stop wrestling, he didn't say a word at the funeral and there's even a story going around that when he heard of Sara's death he laughed!"

"You know that's not true!" Batista stated firmly.

"I know, but why is he so cold? Why isn't he breaking down, crying or at least screaming at someone!" his fingers continued to trace the green patterns on his orange tie. "It's as if he doesn't care."

"People tend to handle grief in different ways, Chris." He smiled, "This is Mark, we're talking about! Not Chavo!"

"It doesn't matter how tough you are, when you lose your entire family in less than a year," he looked up from the tie, "You at least show your grief in one way or another."

Batista's eyes were cast downward, he said no more.

* * *

Well there it is! I just had to get this out is has been nagging at me for some time and I hope you enjoyed it. I will update this story (and my others) ASAP. As I said before; I tried writing one previously, but it didn't go off to well!

So here I am again (he he he) and I hope I annoyed immensly with this one as well! ;)

Yours Insanely

Golumfryingeggs


	2. London Tales

**JohnxTorrie4eva**: I love Taker too! Can't get enough of the guy! I'm glad you've enjoyed it thus far and I hope you like the second instalment just as much.

**Sidewinder13**: Well now, my second story is deffinatly better than my first then! Thanks for reviewing and I hope you like the next chapter.

**xxbrokenbass:** I know it's pretty sad isn't it... but if it wasn't sad then there wouldn't be a story! ;) I hope you like the next instalment and thanks for reviewing!

Three reviews! I'm thrilled, thanks for reviewing everyone!

I'm gonna be honest, I'm not so sure about this chapter, I did write and alternative, so if you didn't like it please let me know and I will change it accordingly, if you did however… then I'm worried!

(kidding!)

Yours insanely

Golumfryingeggs

* * *

**London Tales**

They were finally off, after almost six weeks in New York everybody was sick and tired of it and now they were off to their new location; London.

"I can't wait to get out of this place!" Chris moaned as he leaned back into his chair, he stared up at the air crafts smooth, white sealing and sighed. Yes, it was nice getting out of here. He looked to his right and gazed out the small window to the luggage being hoisted into the plane. It was quite a lot, but the baggage men were really pushing it into high gear.

The icy winds had picked up in the past few days and even now, when the sun was shinning brightly the workers were dressed in blazers and long trousers. Winter was coming and it wasn't taking any prisoners.

"Mm"

Chris rolled his eyes. Batista was reading some or other book he had picked up in a bookshop yesterday and quite frankly he wasn't paying attention to a thing Benoit was saying.

"Dave!" he gave his friends arm a shake and Batista suddenly looked up, looking rather shocked.

"Oh, sorry Chris," he smiled, "What were you saying?"

"I said I can't wait to get out of this dump. Seeing as I haven't had a good nights sleep in over a month!"

Batista smiled again and taking his glasses off, held them in his left hand and answered, "Well, you know that New York City is dubbed as '_The City that never sleeps_,' so you were actually breaking a few rules there, buddy"

"Very funny." Chris mumbled and leaned deeper into his chair, closing his eyes and readying himself for the long trip. He was exhausted and he hoped the other wrestlers were going to keep it down through the trip to London.

"I hope they'll keep their mouths shut," Chris mumbled.

"Who?" Batista was reading again, but he seemed to be actually listening to Chris this time.

"The other wrestlers, they always tend to get really wild when leaving for a new country."

Batista scanned the planes cockpit. On the whole, many of the wrestlers were either reading a magazine or half-way asleep. Kennedy and Tripple H were quietly discussing something at the front, Booker seemed to be sleeping and Kane, who was placed beside 'the King' was paging lazily through some or other biker magazine.

It seemed that everyone was tired and those that were not were very much aware of the others exhaustion, although with a wrestler like Undertaker on the plane, you didn't have much of a choice but to keep your mouth shut.

Speaking of which, he scanned the room for Mark, he didn't seem to be anywhere. Batista frowned, if he didn't see Mark, then he wasn't there, (I mean Mark was at least one head taller than most wrestlers), but where was he then? He was about to alert Chris when the bathroom door suddenly opened. It was Mark, or at least someone who definitely resembled him, but for some reason there was something odd about The Undertaker.

He was wearing his Bad-ass uniform, his glasses were propped on his head and he looked as normal as ever, but still he looked, or more he felt different. It was much like starring at two exact tables, the one you recognised as your own because you had that familiarity _feel_ towards it, but the other you did not recognise because it didn't _feel_ familiar, even though they were exactly the same.

"I doubt they'll give you too much trouble," Dave said casually as he returned to his book.

And with that the plane took off.

* * *

Batista woke with a start, his eyes scanning his surroundings quickly. Darkness had fallen over the occupants of the plane; the lights had been dimmed as most of the wrestlers were asleep. Dave stretched his sore neck, he had been sleeping rather precariously on his arm and his muscles were very stiff. 

Batista removed his glasses with a tired hand. He had drifted to sleep while reading his book; '_The Hitchhikers guide to the galaxy'_ it was hilarious, but it seemed his exhaustion was getting the better of him. 'Must be more tired than I thought' he mused as he stretched his sore muscles yet again. His eyes scanned the floor for his book, it was no where in sight, frowning he set his sights further, looking under his chair, his friends chair and even down the aisle.

He had just given up when his eyes caught the corner of the colourful cover under a seat; The Undertakers seat. Batista breathed deeply; 'How did it get over there?' he thought as he carefully climbed out of his plush chair to retrieve his book.

It was a silly question, one might use this question as sarcasm, to annoy someone or perhaps you had never been blessed with intellect. But for Batista the curious thing was not the fact that the book had moved per say, it was the simple twist of fate that it should land under the Deadmans chair, in the dead of the night.

"Great," he muttered and walked over to the chair. His hand reached out for the book as he knelt in front of Mark's seat, he could practically feel the cold smooth skin of the book upon his fingers, the taste of the cheap plastic which surrounded the cover of the pages, but he never had a chance to grasp it.

Mark's eyes shot open and as they did his hands reached out for Batista and firmly clasped them around the Animals neck. Batista gagged in shock, Mark's eyes were burning holes though him, but they were not filled with the blind hatred or anger one would expect to find. Oh no, they were marked with pure and shocking terror.

"….help me…" Mark whispered, his eyes pleading, his hands shaking, "…please…"

Batista was running out of air, but Mark seemed oblivious as his eyes rolled back into his skull…

Dave screamed.

"Dave? Dave! DAVE!"

Batista was aware of someone shaking him by the shoulders, his eyes danced wildly around the room. He was still on the plane and the lights were illuminating the other superstars who were currently starring worriedly at him. He frowned; he was still in his chair, his glasses were propped on his nose and his book was being clutched in his sweaty hand.

"Are you alright?" Chris was really worried, Batista could tell.

"What happened?" Dave finally managed.

"You were havin' one hell of a nightmare!" it was Tripple H who spoke this time. "You screamed everyone awake!"

"S-Sorry," he breathed.

"Don't be," Kennedy smiled and winked, "Happens to the best of us."

Batista said no more, but his eyes involuntarily shifted to Mark. Taker was starring at Batista, his eyes were dead and no emotion was betrayed. He held Batista's eyes for a fleeting second longer before breaking the contact and returning to his own book.

"You sure you're alright?" Benoit was still worried about his friend, but Batista merely smiled;

"I'm fine Benoit." The other wrestlers returned to their seats as the commotion had simmered down and their friend seemed to be alright. "Calm down it was just a dream"

Benoit held Dave's eyes for a moment longer as if to make sure he wasn't lying, he then nodded and leaned back into his chair to continue his sleep.

Batista let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding and closed his eyes, hoping his dreams wouldn't try to kill him again.

* * *

This chapter was written a bit more through Batista's view, I needed to do this to establish a rolse for him as well, but either way i hope you enjoyed it and as I said if you didn't I do have an alternative! ;) 

And review... I know where you live! (muhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha (breath) hahahahaha (cough) (cough) (splutter) (splutter) (Cough) ...ha...)

Yours insanely

Golumfryingeggs


	3. Breakfast by Benoit

Jynx the Dark Angel: Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapters and I hope you like the next chapter just as much.

xxbrokenbass: I relieved you liked the story thus far, but as to what happens in London... read and find out! ;)

The following chapter I hope you all like, I rather enjoyed writting this actually and like I said I before'; hope you enjoy reading it just as much!

Yours insanely

Golumfryingeggs

**Breakfast by Benoit**

"Oh no! You known what's comin' next, Cole! Tombstone Piledirver!" JBL called as he watched Undertaker slammed Kurt Angle's head onto the SmackDown! ring floor. The Phenom crossed Kurt's arms on his chest and a waited the count.

"One!"

The Crowds chanted as the Referee slapped his hand down onto the white floor of the arena.

"Two!"

They called again as he came down a second time and for a fleeting moment they held their breath;

"Three!"

The bell rang and the crowds went wild! Every single spectator jumped from their seats and screamed for their legendary fighter; The Undertaker. The Deadman scanned the crowds, his eyes boring into every spectator who dared make eye contact. His music gonged in the back ground and for a fleeting moment he stopped scanning the audience.

"Here's your winner," the announcer called above the cheers "The Undertaker"

Eyes rolled back, the white of his eyes procured sending chills down the audience's spine. His hand was raised to the lights as the world around him went dark, his tongue hanging from his bleeding mouth; this was The Undertaker in all his glory.

Every single spectator was positively ecstatic.

"I tell ye Cole, this was probably one of the better matches of the year,"

"I couldn't agree more, JR. But it makes you wonder how much further can the Phenom take his record before he blows off steam?"

"I don't know, but I doubt it'll happen any time soon!"

They watched the Undertaker leave the ring, his hat placed on his head, the long jacket billowing out as if great wings had sprouted from his back, but never once did his eyes revert back to the arena.

"What the hell was that about, playa?" Teddy barked as Taker entered the locker room area.

Mark decidedly did not answer him, but waited nonetheless for his manager to continue.

"You were suppose to lose! To LOSE, Mark!" his breathing was heavy and he was obviously distressed, "You just knocked one of my best wrestlers out of commission, for at least a _month_, dog! _What the hell is wrong with you_?"

The Undertaker merely stared at him, over the past few days his vocabulary had shrunk to a few grunts and now and then a 'Hello' and even now it seemed he was not going to answer his manager, even if it meant getting fired.

Teddy sighed, "Look, I know you been havin a hard time exceptin ya wife's death and all dat. So I'll ye what, you take da rest of da week off and take it easy, playa," he smiled before whispered; "We're all worried about you, Mark. Don't do anythin' you'll regret."

He left the Phenom and walked out of the locker room and back to his office, but as fate would have if the manager of Smackdown! had decidedly stayed only but a few more minutes, he would've witnessed something peculiar; The Undertaker's façade turned from cold and indifferent to total confusion.

* * *

The icy winds of winter had come in the dying months of November and along with it the breath and smell of snow. They were in London for their matches these few weeks and as such, they were positively freezing.

"I can't take this anymore!" Chris barked as he zipped up his blue blazer, not even his genes helped stopped the cold from giving him the beginnings of a frost bite!

"It's not so bad,"

Chris glared across the table at Batista, who was casually sipping his tea.

They were eating their breakfast at the local pub and although they had indoor heating the place was still freezing! Benoit felt a pang of envy as he realised the cold wasn't even having an effect on his companion, even though the only protection the Animal possessed was an open jacket and a thin white T-shirt.

"I'm not use to the cold Batista!" he snapped and angrily took a sip from his coffee, the burning liquid scorched his insides heating his body's iced blood, it helped, but only just. "I'm a summer's person, _not_ an icicle!"

"I think you're just over reacting," Batista lowered his paper neatly onto the smooth surface of the small table and gave a small smile. "Think of all the snow ball fights we can have!"

"Har, har, har!" Chris hissed and slammed his mug down onto the tabel, which resulted in many heads turning to look at what was causing the commotion. Chris had a good mind to get up and leave when a voice suddenly spoke behind him.

"Hello, Chris"

Chris Benoit practically jumped out of his chair to see who had spoken. The second shock nearly sent him crashing to the floor as he stared straight at the Deadman himself and to top it off, he was _smiling_!

Mark was dressed in his usual bad-ass biker clothing; large glasses, blue bandanna on his head, loose fitting genes and a lather jacket to protect him from the cold. But the reason Chris was shocked was partly because Mark had appeared from no where, but mostly because the Deadman was so… relaxed as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"How've ye been?" Mark gave a small smile and waited patiently for the Canadian to get over the shock.

"F-fine!" he finally stuttered, "And yourself?"

Calloway gave a big smile as he gazed over his yellow shades; he seemed to be in particularly high spirits today, "I've never been better!" his gaze shifted to Batista;

"Hello, Dave"

Batista raised his mug into the air to acknowledge Mark and smiled, "Hey there Deadman. How's your time off been?"

"Great! I just came into town to fix my Chopper,"

"Problems?" Chris asked and sipped his coffee.

"Not really, just routine maintenance and so," he shrugged his big shoulders and continued, "Well, I've got to get going, still have a couple of stuff to pick up. See ya 'round,"

"Bye, Mark!" Batista called as the Phenom left.

"Yeah… bye," Chris said half heartedly, he waited for the door to shut and the bulk of a man to disappear down the street before turning to Batista.

"Did you see that?"

"See what?" Batista wasn't too worried at the sudden flustered Canadian; in fact he was almost ignoring it. He casually continued to read the paper as his friend began another one of his many rants.

"Mark! He's so….so happy!"

"Is it a crime to be happy, Chris?" he looked up from his paper. "I personally feel it's an improvement to his sudden sadness and silence,"

"No, duh! But his wife just died, why would he be so happy, so care free? I mean one minute he's beating the snot out if Angle – which I might add everyone enjoyed – and the next he's as joyful and kind and well… gentle as can be!" Chris was oblivious to the scene he was creating; almost everyone in the pub had turned their heads at the sudden rant.

"Keep your voice down, Chris." Batista mumbled half-heartedly, not really caring for the scene his friend so enjoyed creating.

"Do you think he's hiding something?" Chris continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Something really important? I mean Mark was there that night, how is it possible that he had no idea his wife was being murdered? And why didn't he hear her when she screamed?"

"Perhaps she didn't scream?"

"That's it! We need to find out what's going on with the Deadman, before he ends up really dead! Come on Batista!" Chris stormed out of the pub; all fired up and ready to go, but even after Benoit had exited the pub, Batista did not move.

He casually sipped his tea and read his paper in much the same manner he had done before Chris' out burst. The Pub door suddenly re-opened, the icy air freezing all who stood in its path and Benoit entered again, he sat down in his previously occupied chair and turning around he called;

"Cheque please!"

Batista smiled and finished his tea.

* * *

Hiya! Third instalemant! O, wait, wait, wait (you have no idea how long it took me to type that!) it all depends on you now!

Don't shatter my hopes o, those who are reviewers of that which is the wonder of Fanfictionethnethneth... yeah you get.

Yours insanely

Golumfryingeggs


	4. Locker of Darkness

PhoenixAngelink: Good grief! You really like this story don't you? ;) But I am very glad you do and you have been reviewing ver nicely! I am aware no of Benoit's OOC thing so I will be more carefull in future chapters. Undertaker I am not going to say much on this, there is an interesting reason for his OOC reactions so I'll leave it at that. As for Batista I really like him the way he is, I probably won't change much (except get him more in to character) but I used him because his solid and he was perfect for the role!

The alternate chapter I will post at the ending, it is rather interesting chapter, but it didn't fit into the story so I'll post it at the end to statisfy your needs! ;)

And I am absolutely thrilled your not bored anymore!

PheonixAngelink mentioned that Benoit was OOC in the previous chapter, now no one worry! I will fix that in due time! I have taken some time to study Benoit a bit and figure where'd I'd gone wrong (easier question where I hadn't gone wrong!) But either way I think I've yanked him back on track and I hope you like em now!

Yours insanely

Golumfryingeggs.

_

* * *

_

_Darkness, cold, obliterating, freezing darkness surrounded him, his heart slammed in his chest as his twisted mind tried to identify his location in this strange and desolated place. But nothing came, no image of long lost memory, no sudden remembrance of déjà-vu, nothing he was utterly lost._

_Fear suddenly ignited within his frame as the sweat trickled down his pale skin, he tried to cry out, nut no sound escaped his parched lips he was utterly alone in this nightmare. He tried again and again, hoping that his voice might be retrieved by sheer force of will;_

'_Where am I?' he spluttered as he whispered, hoping someone might here his call, but his voice as back and for one fleeting moment the pain pressing onto his chest was relieved by a fluttering inch of hope._

'_Here'_

_The voice spoke in a strange tone, one that might have frightened him if he had not heard it before. He searched around himself trying to find the owner of the voice, but no image came forth in this darkened world._

'_Where is 'here?'' he tried again, hoping to find answers._

_Something grasped his arms and turned him around so he could be face to face with his attacker. He felt all the blood cold from his face as his eyes grasped the image of green eyes, red hair and a beard._

'_Hell' the voice whispered into his ears as the demon image evaporated into the abyss._

"What exactly are we doing?" Dave asked as his friend unlocked the door to the Superstar locker rooms. After his companion had caused some disturbance at the pub earlier that day they had both decided to find out what was wrong with the Undertaker. Although being dragged out of bed at one in the morning, was not exactly what Batista had had in mind.

Chris, it seems had somehow convinced Teddy Long to lend him the keys to the locker rooms and they were now, under the protection of darkness trying to gain entry, although Chris was struggling with his torch.

"We are breaking into the men's locker room to check out someone's locker!" the wolverine barked as he slapped the torch once or twice to get the light going again, he swiftly entered the dark room before the light could die out again.

"And this someone, obviously, being Mark's"

"Ye think?" was the sarcastic reply.

The room they had entered was actually only temporary until the managers got the separate lockers done for the Superstars, but until then they had to make do with cramped up compartments with barely enough room for their shoes!

Chris stuffed his torch back into his bag, before switching on the light and began searching the name tags for the right one. There were hundreds of them! It was almost impossible to believe there were so many superstars.

Batista was scanning the name plates as well, but Mark's name just didn't seem to be coming up. It was as he reached the last row of lockers when he spotted the name at last. He didn't know why, but for some strange reason the locker felt… different, much the same Mark had felt back on the plane. His gaze was directed at another locker, but he couldn't see a difference between the two.

'Must be my imagination' he thought before calling out to Benoit;

"Found it!"

Chris ran over to the Animal and practically skied to a halt in front of the Phenom's locker. "Good work!" the wolverine said and hastily began dialling the code for the lock.

"You know the code to Mark's personal locker?" Batista was positively shocked; he never knew Benoit had such a mean streak in him!

"Yeah, got off him when he was totally pissed at a bar," he casually mentioned as he worked on the lock.

"Mark doesn't drink."

"No, but slipping a roofie into his lemonade really changed his moral standards" the lock popped open and they both looked inside. It was an absolute pig-sty, it was littered with crumpled papers and old magazines, pictures of his Harley lined the door, but no pictures could be found of his wife, or his children.

"I don't believe this!" Benoit scraped some of the papers out of the compartment, they tumbled to the floor "We haven't even been here for a week and look at this mess!" Chris moaned.

"Alright, what are we looking for?" Dave asked as his friend began to rummage through magazines and rubbish that was stacked in the small compartment.

"Anything…" Chris muttered continuing his assault on the Deadman's locker. The rummage continued for a few minutes and Batista was getting bored when his friend suddenly tossed a bunch of crumpled up papers at him.

"Hey!" Batista barked glaring at Benoit.

"Start searching through those, there's more in here," Chris stated as he started unrolling papers. Chris seemed very focus, his eyes scanning the papers with swiftness and efficiency and Dave knew that his companion was far môre determined now than ever before.

Batista rolled his eyes and unrolled the papers. Most of them were notes like; _get chopper oiled_, or _need new headache pills_ and even _never drink with Benoit again!_ Batista cocked an eyebrow, but did not comment.

"He loves making notes, doesn't he?" Benoit said as he settled himself on the floor, easing the weight off his aching feet.

"Seems like it,"

This continued for what felt like ages and it almost seemed they were getting no where fast until;

"Hey, Dave!" Benoit called "Come look at this…."

The Animal obliged and walked over to his companion, leaning carefully over his shoulder. His eyes focussed on the item in his friends hand; it was a crumpled up piece of newspaper, but what made it unique was the hand-writing of Mark, which blemished the typed paper;

_He doesn't leave me, I wish he would, he's going to hurt someone, but I wish he'd hurt me, he's coming again I can't stop him…._

_Someone help me…._

Dave Batista felt his heart stop in his chest. 'Help me, please,' the words came back to haunt him as he stared at the words scribbled on the papper. What was going on with Mark? Was that dream he had on the plane real? Or was it just a sub conscious thing that just accidentally happened on the plane?

There were too many questions and so little answers that Batista gave up lingering on the subject.

"This is bad…" Batista broke the awkward silence.

"No, shit Sherlock…" Chris said and started to shove the other papers back into the locker.

"What do we do now?" he, Dave knew it was a question they had both been dreading. What indeed, should they speak to Mark? Should they go to the police instead?

"He's asking for help, Batista" Chris did not miss a beat as he continued shoving the papers back into the locker; he seemed to be quite flustered.

"Yes, but the note was placed in his locker, which means he had no intention for anyone to find it! This means he doesn't want help!"

"But he's asking…" Benoit couldn't look Batista in the eyes for some reason. Dave sighed and placed his strong arm around Benoit shoulders. Benoit looked up at him and for one moment Dave felt sympathy to his friend as he suddenly realised how much this was affecting the Canadian wrestler. The Animal didn't know what to do, he really wanted to help Mark, he wanted to find out who murdered his wife and get the Deadman back on track, but there was one thing that was holding him back; privacy.

He had always been a man for privacy and breaking into someone's locker and snooping around was the exact way of destroying that morale. But perhaps sometimes you needed to give morale standards the perpetual boot, especially when one of your friends is hiding a murder.

"I know…" he sighed again as if making a decision, "And we'll help him. But,"

He lifted his hand to stop Benoit from getting his hopes up, "We first need to find out more, before we approach him. That way we have something to back it up with."

Benoit nodded, but his hope turned to worry as the cogs started to turn in his head, "But where will we find more? This is all we've got…"

"If he's written once, then he'll probably have somewhere he writes frequently…." Batista smiled slightly at this.

"Like a journal?"

"Bingo!"

* * *

Once again, insecurites are taking over and I must admit; not too much happened in this chapter, if ye didn't like it... well there wasn't and alternative so all I can at this stage is... tell it to the judge!

Kidding!

If it was really terrible then let my docter now and he will scedual and apoitnment for you to come and visit me at the VA, although I doubt I will be able to respond seeing as they will probably sedate me for my own safety (and yours)

Yours insanely

Golumfryingeggs


	5. Horses in Arenas

Souless666: I'm sorry for having you wait so long, but don't worry I've not abandoned it and I never will. So here is the next Chapter, this one feels a bit rough and a little all over the place so if you don't like it I give you full right to give me a bad review. ;D

PhoenixAngelink: Yes, I'm shouting you out again! He he he. I'm glad your enjoying it so much your starting with theories! That's good, shows you guys are at least interested. But unfortunatly I can't give anything away at this stage, so your just gonna have to be patient. But I think this chapter might appeal to you in some way ;)

Oh and aces with the 'Taker knowledge, ye really know yer Phenom:D

* * *

**Horses in Arenas**

Mark Calloway stormed through the corridors, thoroughly pissed. He had just opened his locker and found it thrashed! Whoever had entered his locker was going to pay, dearly.

But at the moment he needed to get to the parking lot, he had made an appointment with a dealer, but couldn't remember the address, hence him being at the arena. He slammed his hat onto his head and shoved his hands into his pockets, emphasizing his annoyance.

He had just turned a corner when something in the recess of his robes caught his attention. It was a small object, no larger than a charm that had been hidden in his pocket, but upon taking it out he felt his heart stop;

It was a small silver bracelet with a small horse charm, which would be just big enough for a five year old.

Mark suddenly felt sick and he quickly found himself leaning against the wall for support. A memory of long ago flushed into his head.

"_I'm leavin' hun!" Mark called as he ran towards the door, suitcase in hand. He was late and he knew he was going to be in trouble._

"_Aren't you forgetting something?"_

_He paused, smiled and ran over to her. He warmly embraced her into his strong arms and leaning down he kissed Sara long and hard, holding her tightly like a precious treasure, "How could I forget that?" he smiled broadly._

"_That was nice, but you forgot to say good bye to your daughter"_

_He rolled his eyes and stormed up to his child's bedroom, still smiling like a lunatic. He calmed his pace as he neared her room and smiled at the words on the door;_

'_Pony paradayse"_

_It was written in a child's handwriting and though it meant some major paint job on the door, he loved it. _

"_Maggie?" he called and opened the door to the pink room filled with horse books, pictures, toys and even tack. He stopped dead in his tracks when he found his little girl on the bed, holding her knees tightly to her chest and crying her heart out._

"_What's wrong, hun?" he sat down on the bed next to her and pulled her into a tight embrace, soothing her with soft and reassurance words._

"_Daddy shouldn't go…." She whimpered and she clutched his shirt tightly in her small hand._

'_Oh,' he thought, 'Is that it!'_

"_Hun, you know I've got to go, if I didn't then you wouldn't be able to ride horse, or even stay in this room," he smiled down at her, but it seemed she was too upset and not even the kindest smile could make her feel better._

"_I m…miss you to-to…much" she hiccupped once and buried her face back into his chest. He smiled, for anyone else it would be heartbreaking, but for Mark it meant his daughter still loved him and that meant the world to him._

_Mark shifted his weight and feeling around in his pocket he pulled out a small pendant his best friend had gave him. It was worth a pretty penny and Mark carried it with him at all times, but desperate time's calls for desperate measures and his litte girl could do far better with it than he could._

"_Do you know what this is?" he asked as he held the pendant for her to see, it was engraved with the tiniest Harley bike and its copper surface shimmered beautifully._

_She shook her head._

"_It's a pendant. A dear, dear friend of mine gave it to me and now I'm giving it to you,"_

_He green eyes were as big as saucers._

"_Whenever you're lonely or whenever your afraid just remember I'm always there and this pendant will just confirm it,"_

_She took the pendant and stared at it, a small smile crept onto her features and Mark felt relief pour into his heart._

"_Mark! You're gonna be late!" his wife's piercing voice echoed through the house. Mark was about to answer, but his little girl had jumped from his lap and she was currently rummaging through her pink drawers. She found what she was looking for; a small silvery bracelet with a tiny horse._

_She put it into his big hand and said; "Will daddy keep this so that a little part of me goes with you too?"_

_He smiled and held her close, "Of course"_

The bracelet was old now, its silvery sheen was starting to peel off and the once silver horse had turned into a hard white plastic pony with silver spots. He had been dreadfully late that day, but he couldn't have cared less, those few minutes with his daughter had been wonderful and he wouldn't trade them for the world.

Mark sighed as the pain in his chest pushed dreadfully against his heart, he really missed them, but it doesn't matter how hard he tries their never close, their never there to talk to him, to comfort him, to tell him everything's going to be alright. He had never noticed how attached he had been to them until now.

'How I miss you,' he whispered as his eyes closed and he knew no more.

Chris strolled through the backstage corridors; he had been wondering about what Batista had said the night before and was trying to come up with a plan to find this 'journal' that Mark might be writing in.

'It could be a dead end,' he thought as he turned around a corner. He hoped it wasn't, but then again if it was then it meant Mark had a serious problem, one that they might not be able to fix.

He sighed he wished he could answer all these questions, he wished he could help them all go away, but it seemed the devil was still having his damn fun at thier expense, but at least there was the small glimmer of hope.

Chris had just turned down yet another hallway when he unexpectedly bumped into something big and sturdy. He flailed backwards, desperately trying to get his footing, a hand mercifully reached out and grabbed him and Chris sighed in relief.

"Hey, thanks man" he smiled and looked at his saviour; Mark. Benoit found himself frowning, there was something very wrong here, but he just couldn't put his finger on it.

The Undertaker's eyes were hard and cold, but a little unfocussed as if he was staring right through Chris and not right at him. His left hand was held tightly in a fist and Chris spotted the sparkle of something silver peeking out.

Mark said nothing and carefully let go of Chris, his eyes still unfocussed and his demeanour virtually advertising; I'm in the mood to kill.

Benoit breathed deeply and carefully began to back off, "Like I said, thanks Mark,"

The Phenom still did not say anything and Chris hurriedly spun around and practically ran away from the Undertaker. About four corridors, three stairwells and another two hallways later he finally stopped. His breathing burnt his lungs, but he didn't care he just wanted to get away from that guy and quite frankly he had at least accomplished that feat without dying.

Something was wrong with Mark, one minute he was a nice and carefree guy everyone loved and then the next he's killing people in the rings.

He needed to find Dave and fast.

* * *

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Batista cracked and eye open; he had been sleeping ever so soundly before his slumbers had been rudely interrupted by a continuous banging, which some idiot might identify as knocking.

'Maybe if I ignore it, they'll go away,' he sighed and waited a few minutes.

_Bang. Bang_.

Well, that didn't work.

"Dave, open the door it's Chris!"

'Oh, great' he mused and pushed himself off of his plush bed. He lazily made his way to the door and grabbing the golden handle warily opened the hotel room door. Chris didn't wait for an invitation, he quickly pushed pass Batista and flopped down into one of the plush chairs available.

"Come on in, make yourself at home," Batista mumbled and closed the door with an audible snap. "Why are you bothering me? I was sleeping."

Chris raised a curious eyebrow, "Sleeping? Why?"

Batista graced him with an answer with a long yawn, he was exhausted. After staying up all night trying to figure out what was wrong with Mark he had barely had enough time to sleep before the next show and it seems he was going to have to wait even longer now.

"Oh, sorry" Chris offered meekly, "But this is important!"

Chris quickly began a long and interesting tale of how he had found Mark and what exactly happened when he tried to speak to him. Batista vigilantly listened to this tale, but did not seem very amazed.

"You don't seem surprised," Benoit started staring fixedly at Dave.

"No, I'm not,"

"Why not?" Chris his gaze became, if possible, even more intense.

"Because I think I already know what is wrong with him,"

"What?" Chris sat up in his chair, his eyes searching Batista as if he would find the answer in the Animals eyes. The larger man smiled, Chris was very eager to help Mark and to a small sense Batista found this rather amusing and even a little touching.

It was rare to find friends in places you normally didn't have any.

Batista strolled over to his bed and bent down to the floor, he searched through a large pile of books before finally finding what he was looking for. He straightened up and headed back to Benoit.

Chris grabbed the book from Batista and hurriedly studied the cover; he frowned deeply however and looked back at his friend with a curious look.

"Schizophrenia?"

* * *

So, there it is, I don't; think this was one of my better chapters, but it all depends on what you think, so… tell me what you think already! ;D

Yours insanely

Golumfryingeggs


	6. Tip Tap Tip

**Souless666:** Thanks souless! I'm glad you enjoy the story thus far, though there is a possibily I will be re-editing this chapter, I'm not at all happy with then end result... but you're th reader so I'll leave it up to you then ;)

**PhoenixAngelik**: Glad you liked the chapter pheonix! And as you see I'm shouting you out once more :D! I havem't gotten time for any reading lately, but now that everything's calmed down I will be reading lots of stories! And I will starting with yours :D. But like I said to souless, I don't like this chappie, if you guys find it dull/boring or uninteresting feel free to say so and I'll post a new one :D

**Lumberiane:** You may push the next chapter button, after days and weeks of searching I finally found the blasted thing! So you may no press it... now I just have to find the other buttons as well...

HBKHardy: Thanks Hardy! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much :D

* * *

**Tip Tap Tip**

A dreary cloud had set over the structures of London. A soft drizzle of mist falling from the heavens covered all in cool wet droplets of icy water. All the Superstars were sleeping soundly in their beds, the stillness of the night engulfing all, but one.

Batista could not find the gift of sleep upon this fine night, his eyes bored into the ceiling of his rooms, the cream covers covering his legs, but leaving his chest exposed to the icy breath of London. It has been two days since he and Benoit had discussed Mark's mental state and though the idea of Schizophrenia seemed plausible and very possible they still had to make sure before taking action. Mark seemed to be throwing out all the symptoms of a Schizophrenic victim; sudden mood swings, strange and peculiar behaviour and even (to a certain extent) memory loss.

Batista sighed, it could be, it could very well be their answer, but just as easily could it be the wrong answer and if so that could lead to more problems. Turning on his side, the Animal tried desperately to win the battle for sleep, but even as he seemed victorious images of Mark could not be taken from the wrestlers mind…

_Tip….Tap….Tip…Tap….Tip….Tap…Tip…._

A dark eye cracked open to the darkness, the strange sound echoing down the hallways having deprived the victim of its sleep.

_Tip… Tap…Tip….Tap_

Batista sighed angrily, he was well known for being a light sleeper and someone must've left a tap open some where in the hallway. The room was still as dark as before, no moon shone through the curtains, but Batista did not need the guidance of light to know his way around his rooms.

Shoving the covers from his body the Animal quickly headed for the hotel room door. He didn't even bother to throw a robe around his exposed muscled torso and instead stormed into the hallway half-naked.

Tip…Tap…Tip…Tap…Tip…

He glared angrily in the direction of the sound, whoever had left that tap open was going to be dead tomorrow. Crunching down hard onto his teeth he stormed down the hallway and quickly yanked open one of the hallway bathrooms.

It was pitch black, but the tapping became far more prominent and Batista knew he was on the right track. He sighed and quickly flicked on the light, his gaze travelled to the bathtub and a frown settled on his face.

"Who would run a bath this late at night?" he wondered as his eyes beheld the very full bathtub, the dripping came from one of the faucets, it seemed to have a leak. Sighing Batsita leaned forward and turned down the water and in the same movement dunked his arm under the freezing water to let the water drain.

"When I get my hands on the one who – AAHHHH!!!!" he screamed when something cold grabbed his arm under the water, Batista pulled as hard he could, desperately trying to wrestle his arm back from the thing in the tub, but it held fast.

A cold hand reached from out of the icy depsh and grabbing Batista around the neck it pulled him down into the freezing bathtub…

Chris Benoit made his way up the stairs, he was on his way to his room, but his mind was everywhere at once. After Batista had explained exactly how Schizophrenia worked he had quickly realized that that could be the answer to their problem But something didn't fall right, split personalities didn't spontaneously appear from no where, it takes time for these things to develop, especially at the extent that Mark supposedly was.

Still if it was or wasn't it was plausible, now all they had to do was prove if their theory was correct.

Chris turned down the hallway and stopped dead, his eyes wide and frowning. The entire hallway floor was completely soaked in water, the whole carpet completely drenched. Frowning he splashed his way over to the bathrooms trying to find the cause.

"What idiot would do this?" he wondered but paused to laugh, about every single super star would be stupid enough to do this. Shaking his head he opened one of the bathroom doors and felt the colour drain from his face;

"David!" he screamed and stormed forward to the un moving figure in the water filled bathtub. He pulled his friend out of the tub, Batista's lips were blue and no breath escaped his lungs.

"No, no, no, no, no" he murmured pulling his friend from the icy waters and layed him down onto the cold ground. Sitting down on his knees, Chris leaned forward and opening his friends mouth he pressed his mouth gainst his friends and started to breathe for Batista. He blew hard, three times should do it.

Chris pulled back and placing his crossed palms onto Batista's chest he pumped hard and fast, "Don't die…" he silently begged, tears threatening to take hold of his body. Seven times he slammed onto the chest before returning to his friends mouth. Silently he prayed to the angel's to keep him alive, no one deserves to die like this.

"Come on you fuck!" he screeched, his arms beginning to ache from the continuous fight for his friend, "Don't you dare die on me!"

Chris held on as long as he could, never wavering and forever breathing for his motionless friend, but even as he fought so valiantly he felt a dread track through his body. Perhaps it was too late...

But then Batista suddenly coughed, water spraying across the floor and over Chris. He coughed and wheezed trying to clear his water filled lungs before he choked. Chris fell back, landing hard on his but, his body shook violently and taking a deep breath he tried to calm himself as he watched his friend taking deep breaths.

"You're alive..." Chris breathed as if not believing his own eyes, he stared at the Animal feeling an uneasy calm grasp him. He was alive.

Batista glared at Chris, "...just barely..." he said as the coughing fit finally calmed. He took deep soothing breaths, just trying to get oxygen through his body and his brain, he felt dizzy and light-headed, but decided not to complain.

Chris sat silently for a moment, starring at his friend, but sitting up he gave Batista a filthy look and promptly slapped the Animals over the head as hard as he could.

"Ow!" Batista yelped glaring at Chris. "What ye do that for?"

"What did you try and kill yourself for?" Chris shot back, he glared carefully at Batista, making sure the animal knew just how badly he had been rattled by the turn of events.

"I didn't!" Batista barked back pushing himself up from the cold wet ground. "Someone tried to kill me!"

Chris was thoroughly taken a back by this, he hadn't expected someone to do David in, he was far too likeable to the only other explenation was that the Animal had tried to kill himself, but it seemed Chris had made serious miscalculation. "Someone tried to kill you?" he whispered, once again not believing his own senses.

"Yes!" The Animal screeched, glaring daggers at his friend. Chris pushed himself up from the floor and stared pointedly at David.

"Who would wanna kill you David?" Chris asked suspiciously.

"If I knew that," Batista snapped, "do you think I would standing here still having this stupid conversation"

There was a long pause in which the wolverine stared silently at the Animal, they glared at each other for what seemed like an eterinity when finally Chris broke the uneasy silence;

"Point taken"

Batista just barely surpressed the urge to role his eyes.

* * *

Well, there is is like I said I'm not too happy with this chappie, but if you guys feel I should leave it the way it is then yay! If not back the notepad...

yours insanely

Golumfryingeggs


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